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The Europaeum was founded in 1992 as an association of European universities, with a mission to: promote excellence in academic links in research and teaching collaboration between the Europaeum partners; act as an open academic network linking the Europaeum partners and other bodies in the pursuit of study; serve as a resource for the general support and promotion of European studies; function independently in the search for new ideas; provide opportunities for the joint pursuit of new pan-European initiatives; serve as a high level ‘think-tank’ exploring new ideas and new roles for universities in the new Learning Age; provide a ‘pool of talent’ to carry out research and inquiry into problems and questions confronting Europe today and tomorrow; help train and educate future leaders for a new Europe. The Europaeum consists of eight leading European university institutions: University of Oxford, Universiteit Leiden, Università degli studi di Bologna, Universität Bonn, Université Paris I PanthéonSorbonne, the Graduate Institute of International Studies, Geneva, and Charles University, Prague, Complutense University, Madrid. The Europaeum Lectures are part of a range of consortium activities which also include collaborative, research projects, conferences, annual student summer schools, joint teaching programmes, staff mobility initiatives, and linked scholarship schemes. Details of Europaeum activities are given in Annex A at the back of this pamphlet.
EUROPAEUM LECTURE DELIVERED AT THE TAYLORIAN LECTURE THEATRE, OXFORD UNIVERISTY, ON MAY 16TH , 2001
Strands of Nazi Anti-semitism
PROFESSOR PHILIPPE BURRIN
THIS EVENT WAS ORGANISED IN ASSOCIATION WITH THE MODERN HISTORY EUROPEAN RESEACH CENTRE, OXFORD UNIVERSITY
Professor Philippe Burrin
Phillippe Burrin is a professor of internaitonal history in th Graduate Institure of International Studies in Geneva. His main research topics are facism, nazism, anti-semitism and the study of military occupations. He has taught in Paris and Frankfurt and was recently a fellow at the Wissenschaftskolleg in Berlin and at All Souls in Oxford. His previous books include Hitler and the Jews (1994) and Living with Defeat, France under the German Occupation 1940-1944 (1996).
The Europaeum Mission ..................................................................... i A note on Professor Phillippe Burrin ................................................iii Strands of Nazi Anti-semitism: .......................................................... 1 Notes ................................................................................................ 21 Round Table Discussion .................................................................. 24 Annex A : The Europaeum Record ................................................ 46 Annex B : The Europaeum Members...... ........................................ 50 Annex C : The Europaeum Lectures ............................................... 54
© 2003 Europaeum / Philippe Burrin iv
Strands on Nazi Anti-semitism
The theme of this essay is Nazi anti-Semitism, and as such touches directly on the destructiveness of Nazism, the culminating point of which was the Holocaust. It is appropriate to start with an indication of what my understanding of that tragedy is. The extermination of the European Jews can be explained by several factors, two of which were, in my opinion, crucial. First, the existence of a political regime endowed with the resources of a modern state, of an extensive party apparatus, and of a highly popular leader. Second, the presence of an ideology that, however composite it may have been, provided a clear road-map for action and within which a powerful form of violence was brewing. Germany between 1933 and 1945 can be analysed as a country led by a new political élite that, from the start, was potentially genocidal and that, after the advent of war, evolved into a true “genocidal community”. Exploiting a situation of crisis, this new élite gathered the support of a large part of the old élites and of the population for reasons that, for the main part, were not related to the potentially genocidal core of its ideology. Helped by its initial successes, it was able to retain their support until late into the war and to minimise opposition to, and even the disapproval of, its destructive policies.2 This interpretation doubly encourages us taking Nazi anti-Semitic ide1
ology seriously. On the one hand, because its study would open up the world of representations of the Nazi élite and their motives for action. On the other hand, because it would throw light on what facilitated the complicity of old élites and population at large alike. Paradoxically, little attention has been devoted to such a study.2 All historians of the Holocaust agree on the importance of Nazi anti-Semitism, but most content themselves with a rudimentary notion thereof. The thrust of their attention is directed at the functioning of the regime, the interaction of peripheral impulses and competition at the top that could have radicalised it and brought about the genocide. For their part, the historians of anti-Semitism have been mainly interested by the forerunners of Nazism, some pleading for continuity, others for its novelty.3 Their studies only strengthen the case for examining Nazi anti-Semitism first. For none of the previous forms of antiJewish hatred, taken in isolation, can be of much help to understand the Holocaust. In spite of a long tradition of oppression and violence, Christian anti-Judaism cannot explain why the extermination of the European Jews happened in the twentieth century. Modern antiSemitism in its socio-economic variant – as a reaction to the emancipation of the Jews and their social success – could have found full satisfaction in expropriating and expelling them. Modern anti-Semitism in its racial variant did not have to become genocidal; as history shows, a palette of options was conceivable, from expulsion to apartheid or even to a slavery society. Making sense of the Holocaust presupposes that we find a way to answer this central question: how are we to explain that the Nazi regime hunted down Jews from Norway to Greece and from the Caucasus to the Channel Islands in order to kill them? To take Nazi anti-Semitism seriously means to reconstruct its body of representations and the mental horizon on which the Holocaust as the ultimate solution to the so-called “Jewish Question” emerged, pushing aside other solutions that had been
practised or envisaged until 1941, such as emigration, expulsion, or internment in faraway “reservations”. The anti-Semitism of the leading Nazis, the “authorized” voices, first of all Hitler, can be approached in different ways. The usual method would pass under review the various incarnations of the Jews (the capitalist, the revolutionary, the criminal, etc.) or the repertoire of metaphors used (spiders, leeches, microbes, etc.). One way or another this comes down to listing the set of negative images held by Nazis about Jews. In the first part of this essay, I will follow another tack, starting from the values the Nazis considered to be centrally positive and then seeing how images of Jews were related to those values. It is my contention that only by taking into account this double register can our subject be adequately dealt with. For if negative images are important to reinforce prejudices, it is doubtful that they would by themselves carry people to lengths so extreme as a genocide if they were not strongly linked to values held to be positive. In other words, Nazis did not hate the Jews simply because they believed in negative stereotypes adopted more or less arbitrarily, but because they were convinced that the Jews were threatening, attacking, or destroying the values they cherished. And they succeeded in mobilising many of their compatriots because their imputations intersected with values revered by the German society at large. Following this choice, I will successively discuss three sets of representations that were crucially valued by the Nazis and around which most of their anti-Semitic utterances effectively gravitated: health, power, and culture. These themes are presented analytically, although they were entangled in Nazi discourse. Each theme is conceived here not as an isolated notion, but as the centre of a cluster of semantically related notions. Needless to say, these themes have in all modern societies been the object both of consensus and conflicting interpretations,
depending on existing political visions, be they liberal, democratic, socialist, or conservative. Thanks to their monopolisation of power, the Nazis imposed their own interpretation that was grounded on racism and in which anti-Semitism had a central place. But they did not create it from scratch: it had solid roots in German history. After a discussion of these, increasingly apparent, heterogeneous sets of representations, I will try in the second part to remedy a double limitation of the first, the fact that it is static and analytic. Focusing on the period between 1939 and 1942, I will examine whether an evolution in Nazi discourse and an intelligible articulation of its main components can be discerned. Can we extract from them a pattern that would open vistas on the meaning the Nazi leaders gave to their exterminating endeavour? Let us start by presenting these sets of representations. For each of them, the sources from which they were very selectively borrowed will be indicated.
a) Health (Gesundheit)
Under the broad heading of health, the first cluster included, on the one hand, notions of cleanliness and purity, and, on the other, notions of work and productivity. That is: in one direction, symbols of discipline and closure, in the other of capacity and social value. This cluster made particular sense in connection with the idea of a “Volkskörper”, of a collectivity conceived in organic terms. There is no need to insist on the importance of notions such as health and work in Western societies since the nineteenth century. We are all aware of their institutionalization, from medical to educational systems, and of the pervasive discourses that surrounded them, whether on domestic hygiene, bodily discipline, or the cult of work. This trend culminated at the turn of the twentieth century in eugenism and rac4
ism, whose scientific underpinnings played a large role in extending into society itself ideas of purification, selection and cattle breeding, whether it was a question of eliminating handicapped people or promoting the birth of racially sound children.4 In this new context, traditional anti-Jewish stereotypes found a new lease on life. In Germany, the medieval association of Jews and dirtiness was reinvigorated with the immigration of the so-called “Ostjuden” (the Jews from Eastern Europe). The image of parasitism, of the economic exploitation of non-Jews, received a new impetus from the religion of work, work being eulogized as productive work in opposition to speculation. And the cliché of disease-carrying Jews was magnified by the expanding biological discourse on germs and microbes. Such associations, easily accumulated, were bound to cause repulsion and stimulate ideas of purification. The Nazi regime was, in many respects, the ultimate embodiment of the modern cult of health and work. Under it, people deviating from state-imposed standards were stigmatized and persecuted as never before. The exaltation of the beautiful and athletic Aryan body and the normative specification of racial health and purity made handicapped Germans and members of groups defined as racially different appear even more repulsive. In the same way, the cult of work and productivity tranformed into criminal targets all those - Germans or non-Germans - who did not or could not conform to the expectations of the regime; the harsh repression of the so-called « asocials » was illustrative in this regard. The Nazis appropriated the recent stereotypes along with the traditional stereotypes, but redirected them all along racist lines, blood becoming the organizing concept. Parasitic Jews were sucking the blood of the German people, were weakening it through diseases, particularly venereal diseases, and corrupting it through miscegenation: the threat they posed was vitally important. In this nexus of metaphors
centered on blood, racism in its scientific garb - the laws of heredity became conflated with representations derived from Christian antiJudaism, in which blood was already loaded with a powerful symbolism - think of the image of the deicide people or the accusations of ritual murder. Sanitary representations dehumanised the Jews much more strongly than their animalisation had previously done. The association with vermin, parasites, germs, and microbes pushed them beyond the world of domestic animals which could at least be anthropomorphised and thus induce some empathy. In fact, sanitary images were all the more dangerous, since they conjured up positive figures such as doctors and gardeners. Dressed in the clothes of science and technology, antiSemitism ennobled violence with the spirit of objectivity, of “Sachlichkeit”.
b) Power (Macht)
The second cluster refers not to medicine or gardening, but to tension and struggle. Its source was not hygienism, but Christian culture. It included, on the one hand, the notion of “Reich” as a desirable embodiment of power and, on the other, internal unity as a precondition for the attainment of external power. This cluster had strong roots in Germany as a consequence of a long history of international impotence and of a latent fear of division inherited from the traumatic experience of the wars of religion. After 1870, the new German state elevated power and unity onto the plane of fundamental tenets, but met mostly with failures and frustations, even before military defeat in 1918 definitively crushed its ambitions. Then the extreme right, particularly Nazism, took up the challenge in a far more radical way. In the anti-Semitic tradition, Jews were associated with this theme of power from the beginning of emancipation on. But Christian antiJudaism had, here also, prepared the field. For in medieval Europe,
Jews had evoked not only contempt, but also fear, as can be seen from their long-standing association with the Devil and the Antichrist, not to speak of threatening foreign powers like the Mongols and Turks. These representations had their basis in the idea that Jews had always nourished a ferocious hatred against Christians and longed for revenge, of which the Messiah was to be the instrument by giving them, at long last, dominion over the world. After the emancipation, these imputations of hatred, revenge, and domination spread widely and fuelled powerful imaginings of Jewish world conspiracy, whose zenith was reached with the Protocols of the Elders of Zion at the end of the nineteenth century. In Germany, meanwhile, the idea of an eternal and ineradicable enmity between Germans and Jews had taken root in the expanding circle of völkisch (that is nationalist-racist) thinkers, Houston Stewart Chamberlain giving it its most influential expression. In Nazi ideology, power, with its corollaries of greatness, honour, and prestige, was obviously a central notion. The objective was, after all, the creation of a Germany able to dominate the European continent and to remould it politically and racially in order to attain a position, if not of world hegemony, at least of a world superpower. But first the Nazis had to build a “Volksgemeinschaft”, a popular community, according to the motto “Ein Volk, ein Führer, ein Reich” (“One People, One Leader, One Empire”), starting by ending the divisive work of the Jews. For Jews were dividers par excellence. From Moses to Lenin, their constant method had been, inside the body politic, to use the populace to overthrow aristocratic élites and, outside, to play states off against each other. Their aim was to destroy the national principle everywhere, the main obstacle on their road to untrammelled power. In Nazi perception, this meant that the Jews were simultaneously using the instrument of revolution (from Moscow), of international finance (from New York and London) and of international wars (here the motif of blood
loomed again), as they had done in coalescing the world against Imperial Germany between 1914 and 1918. Inasmuch as Nazi Germany, even more than its predecessor, was the incarnation of the national principle, the international Jewry could only be expected to stir up opposition to its ascent to world power. What is remarkable in this set of representations is the recycling of Christian patterns. One is the apocalyptic motif. In the German extreme right, the dualism of Jews and Germans inherited from Chamberlain took the form, under the influence of the defeat in the First World War and of the Bolshevik revolution, of an apocalyptic “all or nothing” struggle: either world domination or total annihilation. Hitler meant it seriously: as he never tired of saying after 1939, there would never be another capitulation like that of 1918; this time the fight would be to the finish. In contrast with the Christian Apocalypse, in which God’s protection was guaranteed to the faithful, Hitler considered the outcome of the struggle to be open. A Jewish victory could not be excluded: as in Germanic mythology or Wagnerian operas, a dying hero under a burning sky had to be imagined. Another Christian motif has to do with the devil. Nazis were prone to characterize Jews as diabolical, and this was not mere rhetoric since they endowed them with attributes traditionally assigned to the devil. One was the lie - it was of the essence of Jews to wear masks and deceive with fallacious promises (the task of the Nazis was to unmask them to render them powerless). Another was the laughter, a diabolical laughter, a mocking laughter that Jews were supposed to revel in whenever they had deceived fresh victims. This image of mocking laughter, of which one was the target, could easily make one furious. Through the frequent use that was made of it, this image betrayed a fundamental emotional source of Nazism: resentment. A last Christian motif was prophecy, a performing mode that Hitler was fond of using to express views on the future and that was expres8
sive of his self-ascribed charismatic role. But the point is that he never used it more strongly and spectacularly than when speaking about Jews. In his famous speech of January 1939 in the Reichstag, he evoked possible “solutions” to the “Jewish Question”, particularly an internationally concerted deportation of all Jews to some faraway place of settlement. He then added: “If international Jewish financiers inside and outside Europe again succeed in precipitating nations into a world war, the result will not be the Bolshevisation of the earth, and with it the victory of Jewry, but the annihilation of the Jewish race in Europe.” Just before this he had declared: “In my life I have often been a prophet, and I have mostly been laughed at. At the time of my struggle for power, it was mostly the Jewish people who laughed at the prophecy that one day I would attain in Germany the leadership of the state and therewith of the entire nation, and that among other problems I would also solve the Jewish one. I think that the uproarious laughter of that time has in the meantime remained stuck in German Jewry’s throat. Today I want to be a prophet again”.5 At a time when the internal struggle against the Jews in Germany was nearing its end and the external struggle against international Jewry was coming to a head, Hitler’s declaration sounded like a warning, the announcement of reprisals directed against an adversary imagined as a real entity. As it was formulated, this “prophecy” made no mention of an agent who would fulfil it, as if Hitler did not want to take responsibility for that. In any case, it had a self-fulfilling quality, since it was conditioned by the advent of a war that Nazi policy was fast bringing about. The laughter motif deserves a special mention. Its insertion in the “prophecy” was meant to underline the rise of Nazism from initial insignificance to present might and to draw satisfaction from the image of Jewish discomfiture. But it also served to recall a resentment
that was obviously not sufficiently avenged. At the same time, the memory of past Nazi humiliation betrayed a foreboding of new difficulties that, this time, would not be faced without some terrible reaction.
c) Culture (Kultur)
This last cluster concerns values more deeply embedded than those that the creation of some political-institutional unity would necessitate. Along with culture, it embraced art and religion in a way that expressed a longing to reunite and fuse the diverse spheres of social life - politics, religion, art, science - that had become autonomous in the liberal age. From the beginning of the nineteenth century on, this longing was at the core of a specifically German idea of culture that was separate neither from the nation - each nation creates a culture adapted to its genius - nor from religion - culture is related to the attempt to find oneself and build a bridge to God. The well-known antagonism of culture - communitarian, specific to a nation - and civilisation - individualistic, cosmopolitan - was here anticipated. The idea of a national religion was a natural outgrowth of that broad understanding of culture. Rooted in the dissatisfaction caused by a religious division perceived as a fundamental weakness, it was formulated again and again during the nineteenth century. It can be read, for instance, in Wagner’s idea of national redemption through art, and it took centrestage in the proliferating ideology of the völkisch movement, the ambition of which was undeniably both political and religious. As regards religious reform, völkisch proposals took two different directions: either a Germanic Christianity, that is a dejudaized Christianity recovering the pristine purity it was endowed with by a supposedly Aryan Jesus before the Jew Paul perverted his original doctrine; or a Germanic pantheism that was strictly anti-Christian.4 Even more than its völkisch predecessors, Nazism longed for a holistic
culture that would re-enchant the barren world of modernity and recreate a tribal sense of belonging. For Hitler, art was a very important means to that end. His building projects were intended to testify to the greatness of the new Germany, but also to inspire trust in a coming era of cultural blossoming. More profoundly, Nazism nurtured the ambition of recreating religious unity. This was apparent in its large-scale use of political rituals and symbols, and even more in the private thoughts of Hitler, Himmler and Rosenberg who all entertained the idea of something that could be labelled an ethno-religion. Christianity was thereby rejected in its essentials: the immortality of the soul, the belief in an other world, the original sin, the lesson of brotherly love and doctrinal universalism, not to speak of its clerical organization.7 That ethno-religion comprised both a religion of nature and an archaic system of morality. The first rested upon the rejection of a personal God and of a Creator. In its place there was the idea of a mysterious and admirable creation in which man was no longer a privileged creature as in Christianity, but a simple element of a living world in which the so-called “laws of nature” reigned supreme: the struggle for life, the survival of the fittest. In that pantheistic conception, immortality resided exclusively in procreating and thereby perpetuating the race.8 The SS became the heralds of that conception, and Himmler the architect of a neo-paganism complete with Germanic rites and a cult of ancestors that should be taken seriously, if only because its believers were a majority in the armed divisions of the SS; part of their extreme violence can be related to their worldview.9 Hitler himself had no sympathy for rituals and cultic practices, whether of Germanic or Christian origins. For tactical reasons, he used to “speak Christian” publicly and to invoke God, and even more Providence. His private utterances show that he was of one opinion with Himmler in rejecting Christianity as well as in believing in a pantheistic ethno-religion.
As for his system of morality, he had no qualms in voicing it publicly. It was closely tied to his fervent admiration for antiquity, for Sparta and Rome, but also for Egypt and Assyria, whose warrior aristocracies were to his taste, as was the brutality that led them to enslave or exterminate peoples wholesale. Hitler’s moral system was encapsulated in the notion of “harshness” (“Härte”) that he regularly invoked. They also found expression in his episodic endorsement of the Talion law. The only law, he once said, that had validity on earth was: “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth”. It was “the most primitive law”, “the most primitive juridical conception”10 – the word primitive being used here positively, as being closer to the origins. In any case, through the rejection of any transcendence and the utter denial of humanism, Nazi ethnoreligion and morals aimed at wiping out any remains of “Schuldkultur”, the culture of guilt, and replacing it with a culture devoid of fear and anxiety and unshackled from any Christian or liberal moral restraints. In this thematic field also, Jews constituted a negative mirror image. Following a well-established tradition, the Nazis denied them a religion, a morality, and any creative capacity: Jews were only able to imitate. Worse, they only knew how to decompose cultures through the poisonous products of their intellect, like egalitarianism and universalism. Hitler fully shared the völkisch fantasy of an original Christianity subsequently perverted by the Jews. They had thereby become responsible for a millenarian diversion of western civilisation that had to be ended to return to a “natural order” reconciling culture, religion, science, and action. Concluding this first part, the heterogeneity of these discourses, whose main components were eugenist-racist ideologies, reinterpretations of Christian patterns, and recollections of a pre-Christian past, must be underlined. At a deeper level, their unity is obvious. It resided in a hateful image of Jews, which was like a piece of negative universalism stuck in the core of a particularist ideology and which possessed a tre12
mendous potential for hostility precisely because it could mobilise representations from very disparate sources. In those discourses, another link can be observed, this one between the Nazi anti-Semite and his adversary, such as he imagined it. For the Jews did not constitute exclusively an antithesis, they were also partly a model. In terms of our first set of representations, they were so because of their observation of the purity of blood; as regards the second, because of their will to domination; and in the last instance, because of their ethno-religion and archaic moral system. It is certainly not unusual that a self-image is composed by reference to an adversary. But Nazism was exceptional in composing so close a mirror image. Its image of the Jews reminds one of that characteristic construction of Christianity, the devil, whose nature, in Elaine Pagel’s words, was that of an “intimate enemy”11. A last feature must be underlined. The disappearance of the Jews was at the core of all these sets of representations. Jews were so hateful and so noxious that there could be no question of coexistence. In fact, their sheer existence was so unbearable to Nazis that they felt compelled to imagine their disappearance even in the unfortunate event of a Jewish victory. In that case, fantazised Hitler and Streicher, yes, the non-Jewish people would succumb from being worked to death by Jews. But the latter would then die out because there would be no people left to be their “hosts”. In one of his morbid sentences, Hitler could describe a desolate earth rolling across the ether endlessly.12
* * *
In this second part, the same sets of representations will be followed into the 1939-1942 period, between the start of the war and the systematic implementation of the genocide. Ideologically speaking, the main effect of the war was to dynamize Nazi anti-Semitism by loading it emotionally to the full and by creating a context in which its hetero13
geneous components could be articulated together in a meaningful and explosive way. Prior to 1939, the disappearance of the Jews from Germany had mainly taken the form of emigration, voluntary or forced. Then, between 1939 and 1941, plans of transfer into some distant “reservation” were discussed, the realization of which would have entailed, at the very least, an awful decimation of the Jewish population. From the summer of 1941, following in the steps of the large-scale killing of the Soviet Jews, the idea of disappearance came to be conceived of as the wholesame murder of all European Jews within the reach of the Third Reich.13 If war had such a dynamizing effect on Nazi ideology, this was because crisis lay at the core of its identity. The reality of war was already anticipated in the idea of a “Volksgemeinschaft” that had to be, at the same time, a “Kampfgemeinschaft”, a community of struggle, and such a representation could only lead, circumstances permitting, to an ever more exclusive definition of “us” against “them”. Moreover, war created emergency conditions that stimulated the adoption of radical measures, while offering cover in terms of legitimacy and secrecy. As a consequence of that self-mobilization of an ideology tailor-made for situations of crisis, there developed in the first stage of the war, one that was marked by military success, a murderous wave that was driven by the pressing ambition to remould the continent as quickly and as extensively as possible, be it through reducing the demographic weight of Slav populations, eliminating racial dangers inside Germany, or recovering the so-called “German blood” dispersed across the continent. This murderous wave, which also affected the old élites, aimed at several targets and took various forms. Its most important manifestations were: the decision to kill the handicapped in Germany - this so-called “Euthanasia” took the lives of more than 70 000 people in less than
two years; the partial liquidation of Polish and Soviet élites; the massive deportation of Poles from the eastern terrritories annexed to Germany; the so-called “hunger plan” of spring 1941 that took in its stride the death of several million Soviet citizens in order to reserve food for Germany; the “Generalplan Ost” elaborated by the SS in summer 1941 that palnned the deportation of about 31 million people from Poland and the Soviet Union to Siberia and the colonisation of their land by four million German settlers; and last the death through famine and disease of about two million Soviet prisoners of war in a short time span of six months after June 1941. In a second stage, starting around mid-1941 when the military situation became difficult, this murderous wave was channelled and calmed down, for pragmatic reasons. The so-called “Euthanasia” was suspended by Hitler in summer 1941 in response to ecclesiastic protests. After the end of 1941, the mortality rate of Soviet prisoners of war decreased significantly as a consequence of Hitler’s decision to feed them and put them to work. As for the ethnic cleansing operations of the SS, they were either not implemented, like the “Generalplan Ost”, or progressively suspended, as in the case of the deportation of Poles from the annexed territories. Nothing of that kind happened in the case of the Jews. On the contrary, it was precisely at the moment when, for very material reasons (the need for workers, the insufficiency of repressive means, the preoccupation with reactions in the German population), Hitler was calming the first murderous wave that the killing of Jews started on a huge scale. Obviously, in their case there could be no question of waiting until victory was achieved. That matter had to be settled because its importance was of a symbolic nature, strong enough to push aside any consideration of material costs and political risks. Let us go back to our sets of representations. The health cluster re-
ceived additional weight from a context in which military operations, population transfers, and the worsening of living conditions increased sanitary risks and in which the war effort required workers in increasing numbers. In the occupied territories of eastern Europe, where Jews suffered under tragic living conditions, they were widely portrayed as a sanitary threat; from 1941, military and police authorities invoked it repeatedly to propose or rationalise the murder of whole communities.14 Simultaneously, the image of parasitic Jews, this time applied to Jews unable to work, was increasingly used to promote selective liquidations, in the same way that it had been done after 1939 with regard to handicapped Germans and German detainees in concentration camps (in parenthesis, the first wave of killing played a crucial role in the genocide of the Jews; it increased the operative efficiency of the perpretators by permitting them to accumulate precious expertise in matters like deportation and gassing, and also increased its legitimacy since industrial-type murder had been first used against Germans). In 1941-1942, Hitler’s table - talk about Jews was replete with medical metaphors. Unlike his men on the spot, he rarely talked about a Jewish threat in terms of a sanitary risk – for instance the spreading of epidemics – or of a parasitism that deserved punishment. His discourse had a more abstract texture, it revolved around metaphors of bacilli and microbes, and was sustained by frequent references to what he called “scientific” anti-Semitism. Nazism was, he maintained, a science that had produced a discovery as scientific as those of Pasteur and Koch in their field, and this discovery was about the Jewish bacillus and the method to eliminate it.15 It comes as no surprise that Hitler talked about the genocide in terms of the struggle for survival - a cat eating a mouse, he said, was simply obeying the “laws of nature” - or in surgical metaphors. On January 25 1942, in the presence of Himmler, he said, referring directly to the
genocide: “One has to go quickly; it does not help if I extract a tooth every three months by a few centimetres - when it is pulled out, the pain disappears.”16 Euphemism was here at its strongest. The Jews of Europe were compared to a tooth, nothing could suggest their suffering. On the contrary, the pain was imputed, not to them, but to some undefined entity, Germany or Europe, that would quickly return to health. As regards the theme of power, the mounting military challenge confronting Germany could only arouse ever stronger representations of Jewish might. In the second half of 1941, the coming together of the Soviet Union and the Anglo-American powers riveted in Hitler’s mind the image of an omnipresent Jewish threat. In his public speeches of the preceding two years, he had incriminated several adversaries: Jews were mentioned along with the British, democrats, and plutocrats. But now he condensed all his foes in a single figure. The Jews were accused of cornering Germany in a dramatic struggle for survival, a struggle for the “Sein oder Nichtsein der deutschen Nation” (for the “Being or Nonbeing of the German nation”.)15 Simultaneously, Hitler started to dwell on the German blood spilled in a conflict that was transforming itself into a long and costly war of attrition. In this context of a mounting apocalyptic crisis, he again took up his “prophecy” of January 1939. After a silence of two years, he had mentioned it again in January 1941. But then, from the autumn of 1941 on, he referred to it at least sixty times in the following two years. He usually also took up the laughter motif, making it understood that the realization of his “prophecy” was underway. For instance in his speech of November 8 1942: “As a prophet I have always been laughed at. Among those who laughed at that time, many do not laugh any more today, and those who still laugh now may stop after a short time.” 16 As was the case in 1939, these declarations were messages sent to an identifiable enemy. But now the resentment palpable in Hitler’s reference to the Jews’ laughter was sadistically released in the image of a
choked laugh. As Hitler knew very well, his metaphor had become reality: Jews were literally being choked to death. The vengeance motif - vengeance for past contempt, for German blood presently being spilled, and for German blood to be spilled in the future – could be distinctly heard in the reference Hitler was also making to a moral he pretended to have borrowed from his enemies. On January 30 1942, he mentioned his “prophecy” and then said: “For the first time, the others [he meant: the non-Jews] will not bleed alone, instead this time and for the first time the old Jewish law will apply: an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth”.19 Finally, the culture cluster also acquired a particular salience in that period. War was forcing Hitler to scale down his building projects, and bombing was starting to destroy many a monument across the country. Moreover, he had to observe a truce with the churches, which frustrated his desire to deal with them ruthlessly, particularly after Bishop Galen had publicly criticized the “Euthanasia” programme in summer 1941. In his table-talk, he could at least indulge in anti-Christian tirades, which became very frequent in 1941-1942 and in which he denounced the nefarious influence of Christianity on the Germanic world. With no less insistence, he attacked the poisoning of Christianity by the Jews and the disastrous civilisation that it had produced. The settling of accounts with the churches after the war would be the starting point for a complete re-evaluation of values. As the stakes of the war grew ever greater, Hitler obviously felt the compulsion to define a post-war new order that could justify the costs and sacrifices incurred in the meantime. The concept of millenarianism suggests itself here,20 although it is difficult to reconcile it with Hitler’s vision of history as an endless struggle of races. Moreover, redemption was not to be achieved solely through the murder of the European Jews. It remained to eliminate all the intellectual products of Judaism – including “the Jew in us”.
On the other hand, there is no doubt that Hitler envisaged a kind of historical breakthrough, even though he only defined it vaguely. The elimination of the Jews, he said on various occassions, would produce a feeling of liberation, a return to health or to a “natural order”. It would usher in an era of international understanding – presumably under the leadership of Germany. It would even rehabilitate laughter: freed from the Jewish nightmare, the world could laugh again.21 A triumphant Hitler would never again be exposed to somebody else’s mocking laughter. In sum, by fuelling the pre-existing representations with a higher degree of immediacy, urgency, and verisimilitude, the war made the elimination of Jews, in one form or another, appear more desirable than ever. More importantly, it made their elimination appear indispensable in the form of extermination when previous solutions, like emigration or deportation to some distant “reservation” became impracticable. A context emerged in which the strands of Nazi anti-Semitism could be pieced together in a compelling policy that can be formulated in the following terms: First, the Jews under Nazi domination, who were gradually reduced to a condition and appearance like that of vermin, particularly in eastern Europe, had to be eliminated like the vermin they were anyway in order to clear the way for a pure and healthy Reich. Second, their death was appropriate to avenge German blood and expiate the difficult situation in which the Reich was becoming entrapped. For the Jews outside Nazi Europe, in London, Moscow and Washington, were bringing the world together in a way that would make a German victory, if not impossible, at least extremely costly. Third, to the extent that the war situation could be fitted into a pre-existent apocalyptic vision of “all or nothing”, the extermination of the Jews was also imperative as a first step, a decisive step, towards a change of civilisation, a long-term redemption that would require the elimination of the whole Judeo-Christian heritage.
In conclusion, a word of caution is necessary to dispel any misunderstanding. There is no doubt that the history of the genocide has to take into account several other dimensions, most notably the bureaucratic power struggles inside the regime and the manifold instrumentalisation of anti-Semitism for strategic and tactical purposes. I am also very conscious of the fact that the Holocaust pumped its destructive energy from such a deep well of hate that its depths will probably remain inscrutable for ever. That being said, I do think that a better grasp of the ideological factor is a useful and necessary contribution to our understanding, however limited it might be, of that tragedy. In my opinion, Nazi anti-Semitism is best analysed as a constellation of heterogeneous representations, a very loose constellation intellectually speaking, but one endowed with a powerful appeal. In a sense, hatred can be creative, and Nazi anti-Semitism was creative in combining, in a unique way, cold dehumanization, vengeful passion and an utopian vision. It was because of its intrinsic nature, and not in spite of it, that Nazi anti-Semitism endowed the murder of the European Jews with a meaning that decisively influenced the decision-making process at the top and contributed, through many filters, to the lack of restraint by the perpetrators, the hundreds of thousands of Germans who contributed directly to the genocide.22 As I have suggested, that conflation also had the capacity to produce a much broader impact because it was so closely tied to positive values already present in German society and that were powerfully propounded by the new regime. The precise extent to which Nazi anti-Semitism affected the German population and the exact role it played in dissuading them from opposing or even disapproving of the persecution of the Jews is difficult to assess. However, it is my contention that it was appropriated and that it played a role. The Nazi regime claimed to dispense health, power, and culture, and that claim seems to have been
largely accepted, as was the image it projected of the Jews as the negation of those values. In his war speeches, which were listened to very carefully, Hitler presented himself as the herald of a Germany that had been trampled upon after 1918 and that, after 1933, had pursued a policy of peace until the last moment: war had been forced upon her by envious powers manipulated by vengeful Jews. He also never tired of reminding his compatriots of their sorry situation under the Weimar Republic, attributing its political divisions and cultural decadence to the Jews.21 Jews were thus intimately associated with historical experiences that remained negative for most Germans. If their dehumanization was an important facilitating condition for the perpetrators, it was sufficient to ensure that the population at large remained at least passive that the Jews be linked to bad memories that few wished to experience again, ones that could precisely be brought back by a defeat. By offering his compatriots alternate images of disaster and salvation, and by ascribing to the Jews whatever had to do with disaster, Hitler played, with some success I think, upon a resentment in the German population that was in tune with his own, admittedly in a far less pathological way. If one is to accept the hypothesis of such a structural homology, the question that needs to be addressed is: how are we to explain that Germany, where anti-Semitism was not exceptional around 1900, proved so susceptible to a discourse of resentment polarised against the Jews? An answer would probably have to include at the very least the following elements, which are here simply enumerated. First, German antiSemitism exhibited specific values that were rooted in larger cultural developments, the most important being, in my opinion, a weak degree of secularization that fostered a peculiar amalgamation of politics, religion, and culture. To this development, which proved very supportive of anti-Jewish representations, the Jews being seen as obstacles to the blossoming of the German nation, one could add related
elements, such as a fragile liberal-democratic culture, the agressivity of anxious and frustrated élites, and the uncertainty of German national identity – the “Jewish Question” being in many respects a reflection of an unsolved “German Question”. Second, from 1914, German society was battered for about twenty years by a series of crises that induced a manifold destabilization and produced a “stressed society”. The defeat of 1918 toppled an imperial regime whose existence had certainly guaranteed the perpetuation of unofficial discriminatory practices, but had also moderated popular anti-Semitism. After 1918, a culture of violence, rooted in the war experience, came to the fore and permeated anti-Semitic practice and imagination. Third and last, one has to take into account Hitler’s political talent and the idiosyncratic quality of Nazi ideology. Thanks to the Great Depression, the Nazi party proved able to capitalize on the anxieties and aspirations of many Germans by giving them plausible and comforting answers. This is probably the most disturbing aspect: danger sometimes lies much less in vociferous hatred or even in violent outbursts than in hatred clothed in the discourse of a familiar culture.
Cf. Yehuda Bauer, “Overall Explanations, German Society and the Jews or: Some Thoughts About Context”, in David Bankier (ed.), Probing the Depths of German Antisemitism. German Society and the Persecution of the Jews, 1933-1941, New York, Berghahn Books, 2000, p.3-16. Notable exceptions are Eberhard Jäckel, Hitler’s Weltanschauung, Tübingen, Verlag Hermann Leins, 1969, and Frank-Lothar Kroll, Utopie als Ideologie. Geschichtsdenken und politisches Handeln im im Dritten Reich, Paderborn, Ferdinand Schöningh, 1998. Cf. Donald L. Niewyk, “Solving the “Jewish Problem”: Continuity and Change in German Antisemitism, 1871-1945", Leo Baeck Institute Yearbook, 1990, p.335-70. Cf. Paul J. Weindling, Health, Race, and German Politics between Unification and Nazism 1870-1945, Cambridge University Press, 1989; Michael Burleigh and Wolfgang Wippermann, The Racial State: Germany 1933-1945, Cambridge University Press, 1991. I follow the English translation used by Michael Burleigh in his last book, The Third Reich. A New History, New York, Hill and Wang, 2000, p.340-41. Cf. Uriel Tal, Christians and Jews in Germany. Religion, Politics and Ideology in the Second Reich 1870-1914, Ithaca, 1975. Claus-Ekkehard Bärsch (Die politische Religion des Nationalsozialismus: Die religiöse Dimension der NS-Ideologie in den Schriften von Dietrich Eckart, Joseph Goebbels, Alfred Rosenberg und Adolf Hitler, Munich, 1998) emphasizes instead the Christian sources of Nazi anti-Semitism. Cf. Robert A. Pois, National Socialism and the Religion of Nature, London, Croom & Helm, 1986.
Cf. Edouard Conte and Cornelia Essner, La quête de la race. Une anthropologie du nazisme, Paris, Hachette, 1995.
Hitler, Reden, Schriften, Anordnungen, Munich, K.G. Saur, 1994, vol.III/1, doc. 45 (9 novembre 1928), p.226. Elaine Pagels, “The Origin of Satan in Christian Tradition”, The Tanner Lectures on Human Values, vol.20, 1999, p.5. Hitler, Mein Kampf, Munich, Eher Verlag, 1930, vol.1, p.69. For recent reconstructions, see Götz Aly, “Endlösung”. Völkerverschiebung und der Mord an den europäischen Juden, Frankfurt a.M., 1995; Peter Longerich, Politik der Vernichtung. Eine Gesamtdarstellung der nationalsozialistischen Judenverfolgung, München, 1998. Cf. Dieter Pohl, Nationalsozialistische Judenverfolgung in Ostgalizien 1941-1944, Munich, Oldenbourg Verlag, 1996; Christian Gerlach, Kalkulierte Morde. Die deutsche Wirtschaftund Vernichtungspolitik in Weissrussland 1941-1944, Hamburg, 1999. Adolf Hitler. Monologe im Führerhauptquartier 1941-1944, Hamburg, Albrecht Knaus Verlag, 1980, p.293 (22.2.1942). “Man muss es schnell machen, es ist nicht besser, wenn ich einen Zahn alle drei Monate um ein paar Zentimeter herausziehen lasse wenn er heraussen ist, ist der Schmerz vorbei.” (Monologe, p.22829). “Aufruf zum Kriegs- und Winterhilfswerk”, 12 September 1941, in Der grossdeutsche Freiheitskampf. Reden Adolf Hitlers, Munich, Eher Verlag, 1942, vol.2, p.65. “ Man hat mich immer als Propheten ausgelacht. Von denen, die damals lachten, lachen heute Unzählige nicht mehr, und die jetzt noch lachen, werden es vielleicht in einiger Zeit auch nicht mehr tun”. Max Domarus, Hitler: Reden und Proklamationen, 19321945, Neustadt a.d. Aisch, Schmidt Verlag, 1963, vol.2, p.1937. Der grossdeutsche Freiheitskampf, p.197.
Cf. James M. Rhodes, The Hitler Movement: A Modern Millenarian Revolution, Stanford University Press, 1980.
Monologe, p.263 (3-4.2.1942). This does not exclude factors such as those underlined by Christopher Browning in his Ordinary Men. Reserve Police Battalion 101 and the Final Solution in Poland, New York, HarperCollins, 1992. Cf. Der grossdeutsche Freiheitskampf. Reden Adolf Hitlers, Munich, Eher Verlag, 1941-1943, 3 vol.
Round Table Discussion
Following the Lecture, a Round Table Discussion was organised with the help of the Modern History European Research Centre at Oxford. We re-produce an edited transcript of the discussion. This has been produced as carefully as possible, and the editing has been done to remove duplication of marginalia. We apologise in advance if this may have led to any inadvertenat misrepresentations.
Nicholas Stargardt, Magdalen College, Oxford University:
In order to facilitate discussion from the floor we are going to follow a fairly open format in which each member of the panel will speak for a short time at the beginning and Professor Burrin will be given the opportunity to respond. The discussion will then be opened to the floor. Without further ado I would like to invite Professor Longerich to open the proceedings.
Peter Longerich, Royal Holloway College, London University
About ten years ago, Philippe Burrin published a book called Hitler and the Final Solution, which was a contribution to the ongoing debate between culturalists, functionalists and intentionalists, about the decision making concerning the Final Solution. I think it was a very important, very concise contribution to this discussion, but I think that since then we have all been looking more closely at decision and policy making in search of the Final Solution.
In the first part of this lecture Professor Burrin spoke about sets of representations. He looked at health and work, and power and culture. I think it was a remarkable argument because he showed us that if you look at anti-Semitism, it is not just about inventing or constructing negative stereotypes, but how deeply embedded these negative stereotypes were in certain sets of values, or sets of representations. I think there are three important issues here. First of all, these values or clusters, are central to the understanding of the worldview of the Nazis. Secondly, he showed us that the Jews played a central role in these clusters. They played the role of a negative moral image. And thirdly, he showed us how these values were, of course, traditional German values, constructed during the second half of the 18th century and very important during the 19th century. So, to sum up, I think the significance of this argument is that we have to understand the centrality of anti-Semitism for the worldview and ideology of the Nazi movement. It seems to me very important for future research that we can combine on the one hand the kind of discourse analysis we heard yesterday, and on the other hand the history of policy making, of decision making, that was your starting point more than 10 years ago. How do these things relate to each other? We heard yesterday about an ideal type, the “Nazi” and how if you translate this into policy-making we have to be more specific. We have to talk about actors, we have to identify the perpetrators responsible individuals or institutions. We also have to talk about developments over a period of time. You emphasised the years 1939–42. What about the formative phase 1932-39, or the years after 1942 when actually the German Nazi leader faced military defeat? Why didn’t they change their attitude towards the Jews? I think we have to understand that what the Nazis tried to achieve in racist terms was a homogeneous society. As their whole concept of race was, of course, based on completely wrong assumptions, only they could achieve this in a negative way. They aimed to achieve this
homogeneity, by getting rid of certain people, by excluding and eliminating certain groups, particularly the Jewish minority. And, in so doing, the Nazis managed to broaden their own power base within society.
Wolfram Kinzig, Bonn University:
I am very grateful to be able to speak here as a Church historian because it seems to me that the discourse in this field of research is divided. There are at least two schools of thought here. The Church historians concentrate on the contribution of the Churches in this period. Often the so-called secular historians concentrate on Nazi ideology in a more narrow sense and leave aside the Churches. And what I particularly enjoyed about your talk was that you tried to integrate both and to emphasise that there are in the Nazi ideology elements which are rooted in Christian anti-Judaism. I would like to make one remark about the question of ideologies or clusters of values. It seems to me that a dictatorship such as the Nazi regime only works if the population goes along with it for a certain length of time. Now, as far as the Churches are concerned and I am especially talking about the Protestant Churches, it can be observed that the Protestants in the German Reich went along with it because there was a convergence between the Nazi ideology in the narrow sense and the dominating Protestant set of values which permeated much of the German bourgeoisie. Let me emphasise perhaps four points here. First, the term ‘people’, ‘Volk’ was obviously dominant in Nazi ideology, and you emphasised this, but it was also very pre dominant in Protestant theology of the time, not in an entirely different context. In Protestant terms, the people, the Volk, were seen as part of the created order. God had distributed mankind into various peoples and since this was part of the created order it became of enormous importance to keep the unity
of the ‘Volk’, so unity is a second important point here. The third point is Fatherland, which is obviously very closely bound up with unity. From 1871 onwards Germany was united and the chance arose for a united Protestant Church. You must remember that Protestantism was divided into various Churches, according to regions which is still the case today in German. In the Weimar Republic it was completely impossible to create a national Church. There was no political will and there was no political basis, but Hitler, for the first time, opened up the possibility of having one national Protestant Church, and that was very attractive and went along with the idea of one ‘Volk’, unity and Fatherland. And finally, there was the experience of the First World War and of Versailles. For many Protestants who had fought in the First World War defeat was a shattering experience. You can find numerous German Protestant records where it is written that this was not what God wanted for the Germans and we have to reverse this. And at this time in German Churches and in German academic theology, those people who came to power and were given chairs were very young. Many of them had fought in the First World War when they were between 18 and 22, and for them this was a traumatic experience and they expected the Fuhrer to reverse this. This set of values dominated German theology in the Churches and much of German bourgeoisie, and it coincided with ‘Volkish’ ideology without actually being identical with it. But it did coincide in the dominant points and therefore many Protestants were open to the Hitler regime because it seemed to promise the fulfilment of all their expectations.
Mark Roseman, Southampton University:
I want to pick up on Peter Longerich’s paper. I guess it is not so much directly the issue between the ideas and policy but more broadly whether
or not the degree to which this close analysis of discourse, which I found fascinating, can explain the animus and intensity of murder and genocide. Historians are returning to intellectual history, history of discourse, partly as an understandable reaction to the process driven model of the function a lists who denigrated ideas largely to the superficial outgrowth of a struggle for power. I do think that it is right that we should take their utterances seriously, and this is one of the many strengths of Professor Burrin’s work. In the book that Peter referred to I think he brought out more clearly than anybody previous the importance of Hitler’s prophecy. I feel that I understand a lot more than I did [yesterday] about Hitler’s mental world. I also think it is right to emphasise the abstraction of some of these ideas the notion of ‘the Jew’ is in many ways very abstract. Indeed, it could only have worked in this form in an intellectual culture in which abstract ideas were allowed to be a blueprint. That is the prerequisite for making a group, which is in many ways quite marginal, into central enemies. So in all those ways the points were well taken. But that doesn’t mean that in the culture before or after 1933 it is the ideas themselves that bear the burden of murderous intent, that that is where the animus comes from. And, I just want to set up three possible alternative strands to account for the emergence of this kind of murderous intensity. One is that one should be talking about a history of emotion as much as a history of ideas. Here it seems to me that the First World War and its aftermath are absolutely crucial in creating a set of circumstances that fixes hostility towards the Jews. Using some of the ideas that you were talking about, the Jew as ‘Fremdkörper’ as ‘foreign body’, the linkage between the problems of inner disunity and the threat from outside, the blockade, and the transition into this civil war at the end of the First World War. It seems to me that the important story is not so much the specifics of the intellectual idea but the historical circumstances that
allow a moment of great crisis and fear and hostility to be fixed on the Jew, this supposed inner threat that, for an important intellectual subculture, would engender. So that strand, a strand of emotional history if you like, helps to account for the animus. Secondly, a history of style. It seems to me that one of the most distinctive things about the Nazis, is a way of solving and tackling the problems, which again partly has its origins in the ‘Freikorps’ and the circumstances at the end of the First World War, but also has to do with Hitler’s own style. This kind of murderous intensity that you need to bring in ethnic Germans within the space of six months from all these different parts of Europe and then all these other people have to be pushed aside. A small number of dynamic individuals, understaffed, who have to tackle the problem very quickly. There is a whole style of approaching issues, which seems to me very important in defining the nature of the solution. Philippe BurrinAnd the third thing, which comes back again to Peter’s remarks, is this distinction between intrinsic values and perceived values. After 1933, in the context of the Nazi system, certain kinds of ideas become the currency by which people defend their territory or expand their power or articulate other kinds of interests. And, whilst it is quite right we should take ideas seriously, we should recognise the sincerity of some of the actors and the intrinsic power of some of the ideas that they are dealing with. I don’t think that we should lose sight of the special mechanisms that are operating within the system. In other words, to explain why it is that there are no restraints, specifically in the Jewish issue, why in this case, there is no counter currency, is I think sometimes a different issue than simply looking at the intrinsic appeal. It also has to do with the structure of the regime and whether a counter interest is built in. So, really it is not a question about what you were arguing yesterday, but I am just wondering about the purchase of this kind of history of discourse to explain the intensity of the genocide against the Jews.
Philippe Burrin, Geneva University:
I thank you very much for your comments, which are very helpful, and which touch upon different problems that I have been tackling in the preparation of my talk. All these points are absolutely valid but before addressing them I would just like to remind you that my purpose was not to write a history of the Holocaust. It was first and foremost to bring ideology back into this history, since it has been pushed aside far too strongly. It is not a matter of either/or, it is a matter of combining the powerful push of ideological obsessions and contribution of many other structural elements. To take the problem of the relation between ideology and decisionmaking, that Peter Longerich has evoked, I think this is the crucial problem which is still to be resolved in a convincing history of the Holocaust. Historians have concentrated on the decision making process and also on the functioning of the regime, which has been profitable for our knowledge of that peculiar history. This has had the effect of concentrating on the kind of daily evolution of processes and decisions which in the end make the Holocaust appear as a result of a kind of unexpected push of an interaction of circumstances and events and maybe a combination of circumstances and ideological guidelines. But the guidelines only say that you shouldn’t do certain things; what you should do is left open. I think that this is a view of this history that I am reacting against. This is not to say that it should be replaced by ideology, but that ideology should augment it, and I think an ideological or a discourse analysis of ideology allows us at least to exclude certain hypotheses. I mean not only to add something to the usual way of writing the history of the Holocaust but also to exclude certain hypotheses that are, let’s say, at least implicitly, sometimes explicitly, embedded in this usual way of writing the history of the Holocaust. I am thinking, for instance, of the repeatedly asserted vision of Christopher Browning
that the Holocaust had to do with an atmosphere of euphoria. That it was decided in a moment, at a time, which could have lasted for several months, where Hitler was absolutely persuaded and convinced that victory would come to Germany. I think that if you followed the argument that I have been trying to put to you, this is an hypothesis that should be pushed aside, because it does not make any sense in this powerful combination of apocalyptic discourse and utopian vision. It doesn’t make any sense, at least to me. Second point, the problem of religion. It is very important to try to make sense of the various strands of Nazi anti-Semitism. These are either reduced to biological racism or, in a very minority view, to a kind of accomplished Christianity. You have a few historians, particularly in Austria, who see the Holocaust as the embodiment and the achievement of traditional anti-Judaism, and I think to assert this they have to push aside the whole cluster of images derived from biological racism. So, it is important in my view to take the Nazi representation of the Jews very seriously and to try to fit them into a framework that still has a unity. I think we have to look more closely at what traditionally Protestant or Catholic Germans expected from the Nazi regime. And also the way in which the Nazi regime, in a very perverted way, very surprising way, spoke Christian, that is, many references to Christianity, God and Providence at the same time as it was posturing the implication of a new religion. And thirdly, with respect to the relation between discourse analysis and policy making, all of your remarks are well taken and I think the history of emotion, style and structures are all important in order to embed the kind of discourse analysis I tried to present you last night, a more historically related analysis. And I certainly don’t want to exclude these dimensions. I could certainly have included them in a more explicit way and certainly intend to do this in my book where I will have more room for introducing these diverse elements.
But I think the main point, which is common to Mark Roseman and Peter Longerich, is about structures. I think that structures were very important to implement the Final Solution and also to give it additional impetus, to give it a broader basis for participation. We cannot disassociate the ideological push on the part of Hitler from this - let’s say - charismatic way of functioning of the Nazi regime. But I cannot see any good argument which would convince me that without that decisive ideological push there would have been genocide uniquely as a consequence of the structural organisation of power. And this is why I have made this distinction and also underlined the separation in 1941 between the first wave of murders, which was absolutely immense in terms at least of projects and also immense in terms of victims - I mean the killing of millions of Soviet prisoners of war - and the second wave which was concerned with the killing of European Jews. And, for me, this was a very simple way to show that the structures wouldn’t have determined the killing of European Jews. It was because of orders from the top, from Hitler, that the machinery and the structural competition between the SS, the Wehrmacht, the economy and so on was redirected towards one single objective in terms of negative realisation, which is the Martin Broszat’s conception, of the Volksgemeinschaft. If you cannot realise the Volksgemeinschaft positively by trying to reduce social illegalities and so on, you can at least achieve it negatively by excluding a population. The Jews were killed because they represented something in the Nazi mind, at least in the Nazi leadership’s collective mind, which had to be eliminated per se, not just in order to achieve something else. And here I think there will probably always be the debate between those who are more oriented towards structural explanations, social history explanations, and so on, and those who, like myself, think that those explanations do not fit very well with totalitarian regimes, with those exceptional regimes where violence was overshooting itself. There is no conventional relation between ends and means. To explain this very special phenomenon we have to take into account a very strong sense of ideology.
This discussion was then opened to the floor: Martin Conway, Balliol College, Oxford University:
I was very interested by the exchanges taking place between Philippe Burrin and Mark Roseman. It goes to the heart of how we are evolving our thinking about the genesis of the holocaust, of radicalisation of anti-Jewish measures at the end of the 1930s into the early 1940s. I particularly wanted to pick up on the use of the word emotion by Mark Roseman, which I think is an issue that I would like to hear Philippe Burrin come back on. Because, in many respects, I think Mark is suggesting that we clearly need to get beyond a rather limited debate between structuralism and the history of ideas and somehow try to find some sort of ground that lies in between. And to talk about emotion seems to me to be quite a useful way of doing it. It gets us away from rarifying a certain set of ideas that we associate exclusively with antiSemitism. I think that it also enables us to open this up and to see it, as part of a wider range of emotions that were taking place in inter-war European society. It also opens up the perspective of thinking about this, not just in terms of anti-Semitism, but in terms of philo-semitism, because you cannot walk on one leg, you have to think about the two things at the same time. And you have to understand the role of anti-Semitism within a broader, structure of dreams and fantasies that were taking place in inter-war European society. The whole concept of dreams and fantasies has been discredited by most people who have tried to write about it when applied to inter-war Europe. But I think there is still plenty that one can do with it that is very good. And I think it enables us to bring in concepts such as gender, which so far haven’t yet found a hearing in this discussion.
Robert Evans, Oriel College, Oxford University:
Can I put a question which Hartmut von Pogge would be raising if he were here, because he was talking about it yesterday evening, but as an outsider to all this it has always been something that has puzzled me. If it is the case as Professor Burrin elaborated, that anti-Semitism as conceived as a policy increasingly by the leadership of the Nazi party strikes such chords in the population at large, in the kinds of ways which he explained, and which were in their way so plausible, why the secrecy about the implementation of this policy? Why is it not made altogether more public, as a series of policy decisions as it is, of course, evidently, in the broader propaganda exercise which accompanies it, but which, of course, is not the sharp end of policy? And there is surely a real question here about why you conceal what you ultimately intend to do if on the whole you believe that it is a popular thing to do.
Nick Stargardt, Magdalen College, Oxford
I would myself like to ask a question which picks up on both Mark Roseman and Martin Conway’s issue about psychology and emotion. If one moves away from Hitler and towards either the vast mass of the German population or low level perpetrators in the field, there is a question of different kinds of motives. And I thought here what he said about heterogeneity, was a very helpful starting point. But, of course, one of the striking things about that is that, first these ideologies were not unique to Germany, and second they were not unique to that period of time. What is unique is the murderous intensity with which they are pursued: metaphors are suddenly acted out in their most extreme and most concrete possible interpretation. And it is the disappearance of any sense of intermediate reality between metaphor and action, which is so striking about recourse to mass murder and the Holocaust. And that itself, I think, we can’t actually approach without some psychological thinking, without some notion of the projection of
fears. I thought here the emphasis is not actually on positive images, since the positive images appear only in their inverse as fears. Your emphasis on apocalypse, especially your interpretation of the same sorts of decision making as Christopher Browning was talking about in the autumn of 1941 was very persuasive. But I suppose the issue, if we turn away from the Nazi leadership and towards what many Germans who knew, or approved, or didn’t protest about, the Final Solution believed then we need a more complicated array of emotional and psychological interpretations. I don’t think there is just one model, and this is one of the problems with social history when it approaches psychological problems, but there is something enormous overriding fears that you can predict and see as the threat, which you are pre-emptively warding off. This is known for Hitler, but relatively under-explored for the rest of German society. Omer Bartov made an attempt at this with his idea of reality inversion; that German troops going to the Eastern front expected atrocities to be committed against them so immediately they committed atrocities themselves, to the point where they even came across some of the sites of their own mass killings and thought they were uncovering Soviet killings. But I don’t think these things exhaust that array of images. It is, of course, something about which Klemperer diaries give us clues about for German society; the absorption of particular myths, and the idea that the Jews outside are trying to annihilate the German people and that, somehow, makes annihilation in the East acceptable. But I think this is a much more open question and one which we need to talk about perhaps more in psychological and emotional terms than just in political or ideological ones. That would be my contribution.
Philippe Burrin, Geneva University:
I fully agree with the possibility of the history of emotions, but for me it is largely a programme, because it is easier said than done, and what I have at least tried to show is that I take emotions very seriously. I mean the whole apocalyptic motif is the proof of the importance I would give to these powerful emotional underpinnings of Nazi ideology. For this Christian motif was not only taken up for rhetoric purposes but was really lived giving meaning, to the situation and, I would say, forcefully felt, and emotionally experienced. The problem is how we can combine discourse analysis with a history of emotions. We can do this at leadership level, and at the level of the population. Here we encounter many difficulties that come from the absence of sufficient documentary evidence basis, we encounter problems of witnesses who have completely reconstructed their memories. But, I think this is still closely related to my preoccupation with going back to the emotional basis of ideology, which is absolutely indispensable if we are to explain what has happened. I think what you said about Bartov’s concept of reality inversion and also the problem of explaining why at some point metaphors are taken as reality is very important, and I don’t think there could be a single explanatory framework. But my point was to start from positive values, not in the sense that it offers many explanations, but because it is the framework in which people usually live, and if they don’t have the opportunity to relate negative images to their positive values I don’t think they will be moved by a political regime one way or another. And it brings me to your point, the seeming contradiction between secrecy and popular support for the regime. I think my point was to say that the popular support was not directed towards the killing of the Jews. The popular support went to the positive values that the regime was producing successfully combined with the negative image of the Jews. So it was sufficient for the population, at least, not to oppose the
deportation of the Jews, because what most Germans knew was that the Jews were deported, and then there were rumours about Soviet Jews being shot there was enough knowledge about criminal killings on a vast scale. But, that was not uppermost in the German mind. Not to oppose those deportations or even not to disapprove of them was the best the regime could hope for. I think the regime achieved that because it succeeded in disguising or relating the Jews to the positive values it was claiming to embody. This is probably the same problem as the relationship to religion. The Nazi leaders created a façade of Christianity and put the war under the sign of Providence and God as in the First World War, but at the same time they dreamed of settling accounts with the Churches. This helps to explain the very confused picture that the Germans had of their regime and we shouldn’t simplify it, because it accounts, in my opinion, for the hesitant attitude of the German population. Hesitant with regard to the Jews: the majority of Germans disliked the Jews but they did not hate them to the point, and here I am strongly against Goldhagen’s argument, of wishing to kill them or have them killed once and for all.
Wolfram Kinzig, Bonn University:
May I come in on this point because this troubled me yesterday as well? I questioned the secrecy and it seems to me that as I tried to say at the beginning, for the population at large the racist or ‘Volkish’ ideology of the Nazis wasn’t very attractive. Not many people believed all this strange theories, especially the more educated, because it was a not very well organised ideology. You wouldn’t read Mein Kampf; everyone had it on their shelves but you wouldn’t read it or take it seriously. What you would take seriously is the idea of unity, one people, one Fatherland, to get rid of the stain of Versailles, anti-Judaism, anti-Semitism, because it was an inherited trait in Christianity both in Catholicism and Protestantism, and one mustn’t overlook the fact that Germany was still a very Christian
society. I don’t believe it was a very secularised society, it was a Christian society and there were conflicting values. On the one hand you had this anti-Judaism, a traditional Christian antiJudaism, and on the other you had humanistic values: love of one’s neighbour. These were conflicting values, but when it came to the crunch most of the population, of course, wouldn’t have gone along, I believe, with killing masses of Jews. They would perhaps sometimes talk in these terms but the Nazis, I think, were genuinely afraid that if they carried this out they would encounter a strong resistance in the Churches and through the Churches, especially the Catholic Church, the population at large. So, even though there was a large overlap in the important values, those ideologies were not identical and at precisely this point, the actual extermination of the Jews, they were not identical.
Ruth Harris, New College, Oxford:
I would like to follow on from your point about the nature of secularisation or lack of it in Germany. You mentioned that Germany was insufficiently secularised. What I was wondering, which brings us back to issues of the history of secrecy and emotions, is do you think that if Germany had been more secularised that there would not have been the ideological or emotional groundwork for murderous antiSemitism? Are you arguing that there is some relationship literally between religious myths and this murderous anti-Semitism? That would seem to go against what you are arguing. I think that one of the ways of reconciling the seemingly irreconcilable, is to say that at the heart of the secrecy, at one level, people know what is going on and at another level deny what is going on. We can speak about that in a programmatic way. To what extent do we write a history of this by actually reading what people in the church said, or in talking about murderous intent by looking at the lower echelon or the
Nazi crack force and actually trying to see what those fears or emotions were and how religion or other things are tied up with them.
Paul Weindling, Oxford Brookes:
I welcome the inclusion of health and race in Professor Burrin’s talk yesterday. One can relate very closely to these issues, because health is a way of reaching deeply into the national psyche, shaping issues of everyday life of what is clean, the removal of dirt, and the Jew as a disease carrier. So I think one can investigate issues of psychology. The Holocaust can be seen very well in terms of the Final Solution of the social problem. The idea is that by removing Jews you can solve the fundamental problems of crime, disease, and poverty and have a reformed and regenerated medical profession as a suitable core. It is possible to link these to ideas inherited from the Enlightenment, of the doctor as a sort of Christ figure, in a sort of Christ position. The Holocaust is a type of racial rejuvenation, a racial therapy or racial rebirth that is very strong. I think that is very important to modify the more homogeneous generalised work typified by the work of Michael Carter. But I think there are studies which guard against this.
Suzanne Barget, Project Director Holocaust Exhibition, Imperial War Museum, London:
In the course of making the exhibition we collected a large quantity of anti-Semitic propaganda from postcards, to an anti-Semitic beer mug, and obviously bits of film. I was struck by the localised nature of this propaganda, postcards associated with particular seaside towns. It seemed to be an extraordinary field to be studied and I wondered whether any attempt has been made to look systematically at publishing trends and the effect of this propaganda on German people’s opinions and mentalities.
Mark Roseman, Southampton University:
The issue of secrecy is a complex one. Historians find themselves in the odd situation, on the one hand of arguing that Hitler’s many public pronouncements about extermination don’t mean what they say, and at the same time the many euphemistic documents about evacuation don’t mean what they say. In one sense there is no secrecy at all. Relating to what Nick was saying about the transmutation of metaphor, they guard against being too open about the degree to which the metaphor is turned into detailed action. But, it is covered by an open statement about extermination. The issue is not quite so simple as ‘why do they keep it all secret’. It’s about the process by which the metaphor is translated into a reality. I do think there are questions there. Why did it disappear so quickly in 1945? Clearly if you are on trial in Nuremberg and you face the chance of being hanged you might be careful what you say. In many cases the perpetrators ceased to subscribe to the same degree to the ideology that they once. We should distinguish between language and ideology as token, as a value that has a value within the system. One certainly can’t accuse Peter of being a structuralist. Peter is one of the important people in bringing back the emphasis on ideology. My argument was aimed at understanding the animus and power of that ideology, not necessarily simply to look at a detailed discourse analysis of the images but rather to look at the historical conjunctures that happen to give this particular grouping emotional force as the enemy. That seems to me to relate to the First World War but there are other contexts as well. You make the useful distinction between the first and second wave of killing and that is well taken. Nevertheless the fact is that Nazis perpetrators are murderous towards a whole range of specific groups and that does not stop in 1945. Their ideological baggage is generous enough to be murderous to a wide range.
Peter Longerich, Royal Holloway, London University:
On the problem of secrecy; I read the minutes of the Goebbels propaganda conferences in the Summer/Autumn of 1941 when the anti Jewish policy reached a decisive phase. He was dealing with a problem of how to sell the deportation of Jews from Berlin to the public. There are three important points. First of all the deportations in Berlin in October 1941 were carried out publicly, there was no secret. He said in the propaganda in the conference “Whilst we will make a statement to the foreign press, we will not make a statement to the German press,” and he ordered a poster be put up on every tram, bus, reminding everyone how dangerous it was to deal with Jews. He particularly ordered a public campaign to stop passengers offering seats to Jews. So the passengers knew about the deportations but at the same time there was no explanation for them. They knew a lot, but at the same time didn’t have an official explanation. When he realised it wasn’t successful, he published a notorious article on the 16 November in which they openly spoke about the annihilation of the Jews. He actually broke the secret in order to break the sympathy for Jews within the upper middle class. It was very complicated.
Philippe Burrin, Geneva University:
On the point about secularisation and religion, I have been trying to replace the history of the Holocaust in a longer term historical developments. If only on the limited problem of ideology, we have to look at the history of the Holocaust in broader terms and one way to do this is to reflect what could have made the German case different to other countries say at the end of 19th Century. Here secularisation plays a big role in three different ways. Firstly, in France during the Dreyfus case secularisation was more advanced. French society was more secularised than the German. The anti-Semitism that had been rooted in the French left, was completely discredited because during the
Dreyfus case there was an absolute antagonism between republican values and nationalistic values. Anti-semitism was now forever connected with the right camp. I mention this in spite of what happened in the Second World War. Without a defeat, without Vichy government there would never have been a Statute of Jews in France. So secularisation is important in the sense first that it created obstacles in parties in opinions and so on. In Germany the obstacles were far more limited than in France. Secondly, a weaker degree of secularisation had the consequence that in the Völkish movement at the end of the 19th Century in Germany there was a combination of political and religious dynamics. If you look at the extreme right in France at the same time, that was not the case. For them religion was a catalyst whereas in Germany the new national religion would be either a pre-Christian or post-Christian kind of national Christianity which would have merged with some very important parts of traditional Christianity. Thirdly, through the Völkish movement, this weaker secularisation of Germany had a direct influence on the identity of Nazism and the religious ambitions of Nazis. Weaker secularisation meant that the German population was very susceptible to thinking that included Christian elements, even though the Christian elements were not meant seriously by the Nazis. The semi secularisation permitted the Nazi to create a double interpretative community - one for the whole German population, where the Christian elements were very important as a way to make themselves understood and supported, and a second, more limited, interpretative community, which was the core of the Nazi movement, particularly the SS. Here the anti-Christian thrust of Nazi ideology could be presented to the full. In these three ways the weaker degree of secularisation in Germany permitted the Nazis to find conscious support for its murderous activities, and a broad support among German population not to oppose its murderous activities. The Round Table was closed by the Chair with generous thanks to all participants.
The Europaeum Record
I. International Conferences
1993 Oxford: 1994 Oxford: 1995 Bonn: 1996 Geneva: 1997 Paris I: 1998 Leiden: 2000 Bonn: 2001 Berlin: 2002 Paris: 2003 Bonn: Are European Elites Losing Touch with their Peoples? Europe and America after the Cold War: the end of the West The Integration of East Central Europe into the European Union Defining the Projecting Europe’s Identity: Issues and Trade-Offs at Geneva Europe and Money Human rights, with particular reference to plight of immigrants and immigration policy in Europe The Implications of the new Knowledge and Technology European Universities Project: Borderless Education: Challenges for the new Europe European Universities Project: New Times: New Responsibilities European Universities Project: New Partnerships: Opportunities and Risks
Student Summer Schools
Concepts of Europe The Problem of Political leadership between History and Social Science The Civic Nation and the Ethnic Nation
1994 Leiden: 1995 Bologna: 1996 Bologna:
1998 Budapest: Risk Policy Analysis 1998 Oxford: 1999 Paris I: 2000 Bologna: 2000 Oxford: Human Rights NATO and European Defence European Policy and Enlargement Church as Politeia: the political self-understanding of Christianity 46
2001 Oxford: 2002 Oxford: 2003 Prague:
Human Rights and the movement of people: Meeting the Challenges of Racism, Migration and Displacement The Economics of European Integration Old and New Ideas of European Federalism
III. Joint Teaching Courses and Programmes
1992 Oxford European Community Law involving joint teaching and study, and student exchanges linking Oxford, Leiden and Sienna. Economics of European Integration module open to Europaeum undergraduates and graduates. Political Cultures and European Political Systems joint MA programme, linking Bologna to Oxford and Leiden. International Refugee Law joint teaching programme linking Geneva and Oxford. Leadership Programme in European Business, Cultures, and Institutions linking Leiden and Oxford. MA in European Political Cultures, Institutions and History linking Bologna, Leiden and Oxford.
1999 Paris 1999 Bologna
2000 Geneva 2003 Leiden
Cross-Europe academic networks function in Economics, History, Politics and Theology, helping to promote collaborative teaching and mobility of graduate research students. Other initiatives link scholars in Classics, History of Science and International Relations and Diplomacy. The Europaeum played the key role in the creation at Oxford of the Centre for European Politics, Economics and Society, the Oxford Institute of European and Comparative Law, the European Humanities Research Centre plus a number of fellowships, the Chair in European Thought and, most recently, the Bertelsmann Europaeum Visiting Professorship in 20th Century Jewish History and Politics. The Europaeum is also supporting many other projects such as the Leiden University diplomacy training programme. 47
Annex A Annex A
IV. Scholarship Programmes
The Oxford-Geneva Link Programme provides annual bursaries for student exchanges between Oxford and the Graduate Institute of International Studies, together with other collaborative activities including joint teaching and Europaeum Lectures. The Europaeum Scholarships in Jewish Studies have provided up to six places each year for Europaeum graduate students to spend a year in Oxford studying for the Diploma in Jewish Studies at the Oxford Centre for Hebrew and Jewish Studies between 1995 and 2001. Discussions continue to create a new scheme to accompany the upgrading of the Jewish Studies programme to an MA course. The Scatcherd European Scholarships scheme, founded at Oxford, as part of the Europaeum initiative in 1997, offers fully funded places at Oxford for European graduates, including all Europaeum partner institutions; and also places for Oxford graduates at leading European Universities, including Europaeum partner universities.
V. Joint Research Projects and Support
A Research Directory of interests of staff involved in European Studies in partner institutions is accessible via the Europaeum internet site to build and encourage academic collaboration. The Europaeum Project on the Future of European Universities, supported by DaimlerChrysler Services A G, a three-year investigation into the impact of new technology and the Knowledge Revolution was initiated in 2001. International conferences on Borderless Education: Bridging Europe (Berlin 2001); New Times New Responsibilities (Paris 2002); and New Partnerships: Opportunities and Risks (Bonn 2003) have been held. The Europaeum Research Project Groups scheme encourages collaborative research across the association. The following groups have been backed so far: The Churches and the Family; European Monetary Integration; The Kosovo Stability Pact; International Intervention; European identity; Unilateral Action; Regulation of E-commerce; Liberalism in 20th Century Europe; Transmission and Understanding in the Sciences; and Cultural Difference in Europe.
Past international Europaeum research projects have been on Party System Changes (1997) and The origins and aftermath of the Kosovo crisis (2000).
VI. Mobility Schemes
The Europaeum New Initiatives Scheme provides seed funding for new, innovative and imaginative forms of academic collaboration within, but not exclusive to, the Europaeum academic community. More than 20 projects have been supported including Staff Exchanges on e-commerce; a Theology summer lecture series; Anglo-Czech Historians Project; Classicists Colloquiums; Model European Student debates; EU Policy Transfer Seminar; and inquiries into the Church and the Family; and Transmission of Science ideas in Europe. The Europaeum Visiting Professors Scheme supports the movement of academics from one partner institution to another. By 2003, 10 Europeaum visiting professors had been created and supported linking Europaeum Universities. Europaeum Mobility Schemes aim to support individual academics and students from member institutions participating in selected European events and activities, including conferences, seminars and summer schools. Thus, in recent years, key Europaeum scholars have been supported at conferences on The Future of the Third Way; Russia and Europe; and Telecommunications Policies for the Future.
The Europaeum Partners & Representatives
The University of Oxford, comprising 39 Colleges and 6 Private Halls, dates its foundation offically to 1249, though teaching at Oxford is known to date back to 1096, the first overseas scholar having arrived in 1190. Vice-Chancellor: Academic Committee: Sir Colin Lucas Professor Michael Freeden (Politics) Professor Mark Freedland (History)
Management Committee: Mrs Beverly Potts International Office University of Oxford Wellington Square OXFORD OX1 2JD Email: Beverly.Potts@admin.ox.ac.uk
Universiteit Leiden founded in 1575 by the States of Holland, as a reward for the town’s brave resistance against the Spanish, at the behest of William of Orange. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Douwe D Breimer Professor Henk Dekker (Politics) Professor Wim van den Doel (History)
Management Committee: Dr Joost Van Asten Director of International Relations University Office Universiteit Leiden Postbus 9500 NL-2300 RA LEIDEN Email: email@example.com
Università degli studi di Bologna officially constituted in 1158 by Emperor Frederick I Barbarossa, though independent teaching dates back to 1088. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Pier Ugo Calzolari Professor Tiziano Bonazzi (History) Professor Carlo Guarneri (Politics)
Management Committee: Dr Giovanna Filippini Settore Relazioni Internazionali Università degli studi di Bologna Via Zamboni 33 I-40125 BOLOGNA Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Rheinische Friedrich-Wilhelms-Universität Bonn founded in 1818 by Kaiser Friedrich Wilhelm III, preceded by an Academy established in 1777. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Dr Klaus Borchard Professor Dr Wolfram Kinzig (Theology) Professor Dr Uwe Holz (Politics)
Management Committee: Dr. Hartmut Ihne Director, ZEF/ZEI Universitat Bonn Walter-Flex-Str. 3 D-53113 BONN Email: email@example.com
Annex B Annex B
The Graduate Institute of International Studies founded in 1927, associated to, but not part of, the University of Geneva. Director: Academic Committee: Dr David Wilson (Deputy Director) Prof. Gopalan Balachandran (Politics) Prof. Vera Gowlland-Debbas (History) Dr Daniel Warner Deputy Director Graduate Institute of International Studies 132, Rue de Lausanne P.O. Box 36 CH-1211 GENEVE 21 Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Université Paris I Panthéon-Sorbonne founded in the 12th Century, and formally constituted by Papal Bull in 1215, was briefly suppressed by the French Revolution between 1793 and 1808, and reconstituted in 1890. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Michel Kaplan Professor Hubert Kempf (Economics) Professor Robert Frank (History/Politics)
Management Committee: Professor Robert Frank Institut Pierre Renouvin 1, rue Victor Cousin F-75005 PARIS Email: email@example.com
Charles University, Prague, founded in 1348, was divided into Czech and German institutions by the Vienna government in 1882. These operated in parallel until 1939, when the Czech institution was closed by Nazi occupation. After 1945, the German institution was abolished and the Czech Charles University revived. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Ivan Wilhelm Professor Luboš Tichy (Law) Professor Frantisek Turnovec (Economics)
Management Committee: Ms Ivana Halašková Director, International Relations Office Univerzita Karlova V Praze Ovocny trh 3/5 116 36 PRAHA 1 Email: Ivana.Halaskova@ruk.cuni.cz
The Complutense University of Madrid, one of the oldest and largest in the world, was founded in 1293, originally in Alcalá de Henares, moving to Madrid in 1836. It has about 100,000 students, including 3,500 international students. Rector: Academic Committee: Professor Carlos Berzosa Professor Rosario Otegui
Management Committee: Professor Rosario Otegui Vice Rector, International Relations Universidad Complutense Avda. Seneca, 2, Ciudad Universitaria 28040 MADRID Email: firstname.lastname@example.org
Europaeum Lectures have been a part of the consortium work since its foundation, examining key issues confronting Europe today. Those marked with 1 have been published. Those marked with 2 are available on our website. Since 2000, this series of pamphlets has included the following: October 2000, Prague Dr David Robertson, Oxford University, on A Common Constitutional Law for Europe: Questions of National Autonomy versus Universal Rights 1 2 November 2000, Oxford Dr John Temple-Lang, European Commission, on The Commission and the European Parliament – an uncertain relationship 1 2 February 2001, Geneva Professor Ian Brownlie CBE QC, formerly of Oxford University, on International Law and the use of force by states 1 2 May 2001, Oxford Professor Philippe Burrin, Geneva University, on Strands on Nazi Anti-semitism 2 June 2001, Paris Professor Raymond Barre, formerly French Premier, the Sorbonne (Paris I) on Quelle Europe pour demain? December 2001, Berlin Professor Peter Scott, Kingston University,(formerly Edition Times, Higher Education Supplement) on The European University - What is its Future? 2 April 2002, Geneva Lord Professor (Ralf) Dahrendorf, formerly Oxford University, on Terrorism, Security and Poverty April 2002, Bonn Professor Michael Meyer-Blanck, Bonn University, on Tradition - Integration Qualification: Some Reflections on Religious Education in European Schools June 2002, Bologna Professor Tiziano Bonazzi, Bologna University, on Europa, Zeus and Minos: or the labyrinth of Euro-American relations November 2002, Oxford Professor Charles Wyplosz, Geneva University, on Fiscal Discipline in the Monetary Union: Rules or Institutions? 1 2 November 2002, Oxford Professor Robert Frank, Paris I University, on France and the United Kingdom in the Construction of Europe. April 2003, Geneva Sir Marrack Goulding, Oxford University, formerly United Nations, on The United Nations and Peace since the Cold War: success, failure or neither? 1
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